Wammy's Boy
by Super NEET
Summary: A Death Note, Harry Potter crossover. Harry grows up a Wammy's boy, striving for most of his childhood to work for justice and, by extension, L. Throw in the Order and the cunning of Kira and you have a rather bumpy ride.
1. I

**Wammy's Boy**

_A Harry Potter, Death Note Crossover_

**By:** Super NEET

**Rated:** T (for now, at least)

**Summary:** Harry Potter grows up not with the Dursleys, but at Wammy's House, where he gains new friends and enemies and eventually works alongside L, a man he has great respect for. Too bad the righteous and stubborn Order of the Phoenix wants him to carry on his parent's famous legacy...and use his name as a rather crude form of blackmail to ensure his cooperation. Main Characters: Harry, Mello, Matt, Near, L, Dumbledore, Snape, Remus, and Sirius. _Language, slight sexuality/innuendo, and violence lie herein_.

**Super NEET's Super Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing but the plot.

**A/N:** Wow. Never thought I'd get around to writing this. It's been in my head forever—a Death Note, Harry Potter crossover that was both lengthy and had depth. Originally I had intended for Harry to find the Death Note, but decided for this instead. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it.

**Warnings:** This story will have language (mostly thanks to Mello, really), sexuality (though to what degree I do not know), name spoilers, and a good amount of violence. Also, I want to make it clear now that I have moved the HP timeline up by roughly a decade so that it coincides with the Death Note timeline. I did this because I am less familiar with Death Note, which leads me to my next and final warning: I have never written anything Death Note related in my life, and I am not an expert. While I grew up with Harry Potter and know it like the back of my hand, Death Note is more foreign to me. I am really looking forward to writing L, as he is undoubtedly one of the most amazing fictional characters I have ever come across, and definitely the most unique. Oh, and this will probably have **NO MAGIC**. Because that would be a bitch to fit in and explain…gah, just thinking about it gives me a headache…

Enough of this. On with the show!

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Prologue**

Roger Ruvie had dealt with many children in his long years, and never, not once, had he enjoyed their company. They were loud, foolish, and were in constant need of attention; attention that he—being an old, stern man with too much to do--was nearly reluctant to give. Perhaps, if he hadn't been in such a precarious and important position of power, he would have hated his job, and made it a point to quit. But the fact of the matter was, his job held great—and mostly undisclosed—significance. Underappreciated, overworked, but, in the end, a very important player in the games of Justice and those who brought it to light. No matter how much he disliked the company of children he could never simply _quit_ his job, even if they _did_ cause his blood pressure to rise dangerously. He couldn't imagine working somewhere _other_ than at Wammy's House, with these 'gifted' children and their _noise_, and their _insufferable_ intelligence, and, of course, their _whining_.

Bitter though he undoubtedly was, Roger loved the institution that was Wammy's and everything that it stood for. And, sometimes, he found children that he could stand—children that were quiet and mostly unassuming; children like Nate River, who wished for nothing more than puzzles and toys that hid a frighteningly high IQ. Children such as that, he knew, grew up to be someone. Be it someone righteous or someone terrible he did not know, but someone important all the same.

His job was a difficult one. He ran Wammy's when Mr. Wammy was away—and, with L Lawliet (who he had known quite well at one point) being the world's greatest detective and the closest thing to a son he had, Mr. Wammy was away a good deal of the time. Roger had never approved of Mr. Wammy's devotion to L over the orphanage that had been named after him. A part of him knew, however, that L could never get by on his own—he was too childish and had a need for someone to keep him grounded. In the end, Roger grudgingly admitted that perhaps Mr. Wammy's role in L's life was incredibly important not just to L, but to the civilized world. He also had to admit that his dislike of L-the-child clouded his opinion on the subject.

His secondary—and altogether secret—job was training and overseeing L's successors. It had long been decided that L would have one or more persons of astounding ability to succeed him. Mr. Wammy and L had sat him down one evening and laid down nearly every characteristic that made a child a good choice. Everything from a certain look in their eyes to more concrete aspects of their personality and intelligence—such as quirks and test scores—were to be taken into account. Roger did this job well, and even then he had a good idea of who would be in the final running to become the next L.

As the head of Wammy's House when Mr. Wammy was away, Roger was forced to do the more trivial tasks that came along with running an orphanage for gifted children. One of these tasks was discovering these gifted and parentless children in the first place. They came from all over the world, spoke every language, and had every face. Children with amazing artistic abilities and children with amazingly powerful intelligence were accepted at Wammy's with open arms. Then there were the children who had this _look_. They did not excel greatly in any one area, but their eyes were beyond them and those around them, and these eyes were often the only thing keeping them in Wammy's House.

Roger was intrigued by these eyes--sought them out, even--and that is why he decided to take in young Harry Potter who, at six years old, had no living family and a rather shoddy past. His school grades were decent, his teachers thought him very polite, and he had that look in his eyes that Roger searched high and low for. They were so round and innocent, so far away from the normal belligerence that children wore over them like cloaks in winter time. Those ridiculously green eyes were so smart, and so _old_; they reminded him of Mr. Wammy's eyes. Roger knew immediately that this boy was something, would be someone, and had decided he wanted to be a part of the process that determined what that something or someone would be.

Another thing that Roger detested about his job at Wammy's House was the paper work--but, in cases like this, he didn't mind it so much.

* * *

**A/N:** Review, perhaps? I'd like to know whether I should continue or not. :)

Oh, and for those of you wondering why I made Roger so bitter—it has been mentioned that Mr. Ruvie prefers the company of insects over children. I find this very amusing.


	2. II

**Wammy's Boy**

**By: **Super NEET

**Chapter 2**

The children at Wammy's House were quite different from the children at Harry's former schools. They were either extremely eccentric or extremely reserved and refined—rarely was there someone who seemed at all in-between. Indeed, even their names were strange and, sometimes, reflective of their personality, a concept which Harry did not understand. Would they change his name to _Scarhead_? Or _Freak_? He certainly hoped not.

Children such as Sister—a boy who sported a bowl cut and was a few years older than Harry—and Victory—a girl with short hair and blue eyes lit with determination—startled Harry with their unfamiliarity. Never before had he felt so frightened of children his own age; even Dudley or the bullies at his old schools couldn't compare. Despite his anxiety he did not desire to return to Number Four, Privet Drive, mostly because he wanted to forget that the place existed, and forget the people that had once lived there with him and made him sleep in the spider-ridden cupboard under the stairs. Forget that they were dead, leaving him with a strange feeling of bitterness. A small part of him would always long to have a grand escape in which he showed _them_ what for, he supposed. But instead they had died—all three of them.

Their sudden and accidental death—a la car crash, which made him wonder if it ran in the family—was why he was at Wammy's House in the first place. It was a stately and beautiful orphanage that doubled as a school, a school for so-called _special_ children (which Harry knew was another way to say 'smart children'). The old man, Mr. Ruvie, had told him of a test he would have to take, a test which would determine whether or not he stayed at Wammy's. Harry was unsure as to whether or not he _wanted_ to stay. Apprehension he was familiar with, even accustomed to, but this alien combination of hope, fear, and anxiety nearly had him shaking in his sneakers.

A test, Mr. Ruvie had said. What sort of test? A maths test? He was good at maths; perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Then again, it could just as easily be a Social Studies test, a subject which he had never really excelled in. The first inklings of panic began to stab at his insides with the frequency of a drum roll.

Harry attempted to stem these troublesome feelings as he fidgeted in front of Mr. Ruvie's desk. The man was looking over some paper work, or something. He hadn't spoken for what seemed like hours to Harry's seven-year-old perception of time.

Finally the man cleared his throat and looked up at Harry, no-nonsense like. Harry had never been looked at in such a way.

"Now, Harry," the man said strictly, "I understand that you have been through quite the ordeal," the man sounded so perfunctory that Harry didn't think he considered it an 'ordeal' at all. Harry relaxed minutely, as _he_ didn't consider it one either. "But we cannot waste time on this matter."

Harry stared at him with wide, curious eyes. He barely blinked, and the man stared back firmly before continuing.

"You will take the entrance test tomorrow morning at seven A.M., and if you pass you will be given further directions. If you fail, I will unfortunately have to escort you back into the care of the government." Mr. Ruvie folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Harry said immediately. And he did. If he passed, he stayed…but if he failed, he was kicked out. Couldn't the man have put it more simply?

"Good." Mr. Ruvie said shortly. He picked up a rather old-fashioned phone and twirled the strange dial—Harry had only seen such a device in movies, but he reckoned it fit in well with Wammy's old-fashioned feel.

After a moment, Mr. Ruvie spoke again, this time to someone on the other line: "Ah, Matt. Good evening." A small pause. "I have the child I mentioned to you earlier here with me. He needs to be escorted to his temporary room." Another tiny pause—'Matt' must have been a man of few words. "Thank you." Mr. Ruvie hung up.

Harry stared down at the hands folded in his lap—hands that were rough from chores and burns he had acquired during his trial-and-error runs with the Dursley's stove. Would he be forced to cook and clean if he was allowed to stay at Wammy's House? Or perhaps he would be sent to live with another family just like the Dursleys? A part of Harry roared in anger at the thought of being tossed aside because he was deemed not smart enough to stay, while another part of Harry worked frantically to keep these rampant emotions in check.

Not two minutes later the door to Mr. Ruvie's office opened. Mr. Ruvie didn't so much as twitch, but Harry twisted in his seat and was surprised to see that Matt was not a man, but a boy not much older than himself. He had dark red hair and a lanky, relaxed build. Strange goggles were settled on his forehead as if they were an afterthought, but other than that Matt seemed to be…completely _average_. He appeared to be a normal kid—carefree and casual.

"Harry, if you would please follow Matt to your room for the night. You will be retrieved in the morning." Mr. Ruvie stacked some papers on his desk and now seemed to only be speaking as an addendum. "I suggest you rest well."

"Okay." Harry said quietly, and he hopped from the chair and turned to Matt, who looked him over briefly before letting a tiny smile. Harry returned it gratefully.

"C'mon." Matt said—his voice was pleasant, Harry thought.

After a few moments of silence, in which Harry took in the walls that may or may not make up his new home, Matt spoke.

"The test is difficult." He said carelessly. "It's diverse, though, so you have a lot of chances to prove yourself in one or two areas. I reckon they'll also gauge your I.Q."

Harry didn't want to mention that he didn't know what 'I.Q.' meant.

"I…" Harry bit his lip and wrung his hands together. Matt glanced at him, and smiled in the carefree matter that seemed to represent his entire being. "I don't think I'll do well."

Matt dug in his pocket and pulled out a handheld video game console—one even nicer than the model that Dudley use to wave tauntingly in Harry's face.

"I think you will." Matt said simply, before switching on his game and becoming immersed in the cartoon violence it held.

Harry couldn't bring himself to be annoyed, and as he was shown his rather plain (and, he told himself, most likely temporary) room, he felt his stomach churn in a familiar feeling of anxiety. He didn't want to go back into the care of those cold, serious people—the ones who gazed at him with sympathy so fake even his rather underdeveloped perception of emotions could sense the falsity in their expressions and tone. He wasn't sad, exactly, and he definitely wasn't in mourning. Hadn't he hated his family? Was he supposed to feel depressed? Everyone seemed to think so, and the fact that Harry was perfectly stable and more or less the same as always worried him a little. Perhaps he was broken?

"You think too much." Matt commented, having made himself at home on Harry's temporary bed. He lay on his stomach, staring down into the screen of the game console in his hands.

Harry wondered why the redhead was still there, but humored him: "Do I?"

Matt hummed in affirmation. "Yeah. You're gonna hurt yourself. I suggest you save all the thinkin' until after the test is over."

His accent wasn't what Harry was used to—a bit rougher, perhaps more sharp. Then again, on his way into and through Wammy's he had heard more languages being spoken than he knew existed. He had always wanted to learn another language…maybe two, or three other languages…

Harry was very good at evading things.

"How old are you?" He ejaculated a few moments later without really meaning to. He smiled sheepishly when Matt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Eight." He said.

"Oh. I'm nearly seven."

"Mr. Ruvie told me."

Harry assumed the silence that came after this exchange was only awkward for him, as Matt was so immersed in his game Harry reckoned not even a tornado could—

"MATT!" A bellow sounded from the hallway, making Harry jump rather comically and turn to face the door in apprehension.

"In here!" Matt called vaguely, shifting into a more comfortable position but not getting up.

The door was thrown open violently, and in the doorway stood another young boy who was scowling darkly, as if someone had just nearly knocked _his_ door off its hinges. His hair was blond, his skin pale, his clothing black and his eyes wild and filled with a certain spark—a certain angry _something_ that Harry couldn't place. He stormed into the room and crossed his arms, glaring between Matt and Harry speculatively.

"Who're you?" The boy demanded of Harry. He had a very slight accent that Harry could not place.

"I'm—"

"He's new, Mello." Matt said quickly, interrupting the younger boy. Harry bit his lip, wondering if he'd almost just made a mistake. Although not answering this 'Mello' didn't seem like a good idea.

Mello sneered at Matt, "That's _what_ he is, not _who_ he is."

Mello reminded Harry of the bullies at his old school, although his eyes were different. Sharper. For Mello, childish belligerence was not synonymous with unintelligence, but that did not make Harry dislike him any less. Something about Mello pushed his buttons…

Matt didn't seem at all phased by the hostility rolling off of Mello.

"He'll be taking the test tomorrow morning. I reckon they'll give him a name once he's passed it."

Harry felt something twist in his gut at the way Matt so carelessly assumed he was smart enough to pass tomorrow's test.

"Yeah, but—"

"Mello," Matt said softly, his whole demeanor shifting as he shut off his game and sat up, "You know how this works. Just call him whatever you want until tomorrow."

"Within reason!" Harry said hurriedly.

Matt appeared slightly amused, but other than that Harry was completely ignored. Matt seemed to be rather close to Mello—God knows why—and he held stern eye contact with the blond for several moments. Mello on the other hand didn't seem amused in the slightest, yet stayed quiet and returned the look with an air of frustrated petulance.

After a short time Mello turned and looked Harry over with narrowed eyes; Harry slouched a little in response and fiddled with his too-long sleeves.

He wasn't much to look at—he had always been small but fast, and clumsy but flexible. Large glasses sat precariously on his round nose and his hair hung in his face and around his neck in incredibly messy waves. His skin—which had been pale as snow once upon a time—was now tanned from all of the time he had spent outside doing chores in his Aunt Petunia's garden. His words were soft but his message blunt, and he had never considered his mind to be anything amazing. Someone seemed to disagree, though, seeing as he was currently under the scrutiny of a 'special child' within the walls of a school for 'special children'…

"What's that on your head?"

Harry's eyes snapped up from where they had been fixed on the ground. "What?"

Mello rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips in a queenly manner. "What's that _thing_ on your forehead?"

Harry glared at someone for the first time in months. It felt rather good to be able to get angry without real consequence…besides, of course, the consequence-ridden scenario in which Mello got him in a headlock. But something told him that Matt—who was once again on Harry's temporary bed, playing a video game—wouldn't allow that, no matter how indifferent he seemed.

"None of your business." Harry snapped defensively, and with relish.

Mello rolled his eyes again—Harry found the action very irritating. "I just wanna see it. Chill out."

_He_ needed to chill out? Harry felt his blood start to boil in his veins.

"No." He said flatly. Matt suddenly turned his face to Mello, his eyes sharp. "It's none of your business."

Harry suddenly realized that Mello was use to always getting what he wanted. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Harry was denying this one little thing, at least for now…

Mello clenched his fists at his sides and scowled darkly. "Let. Me. See it!"

"Stop asking me that!" Harry practically shouted, his own hands curling into fists that he had never used in anger.

Mello's chest seemed to be heaving slightly with rage, and his eyes flashed sapphire with resentment. Matt was alert now and sitting up, the game still on in his hands but not holding his attention. Harry and Mello's eyes were locked in a fierce battle of wills.

Never before had Harry been able or felt compelled to deny another person something so simple. If a child had asked to see his scar before, he would have immediately complied with their wishes. Mello, though…Mello was different. He was 'special', and annoying, and a complete _asshole_. Harry wasn't even _ashamed_ of the scar—not anymore, at least. It was just a mark he'd always had to bear. It meant nothing to him.

Mello's face had been turning pink over the course of the staring contest, and he seemed ready to beat the living daylights out of Harry before _making_ the bespectacled boy show him the scar.

Harry glared for a moment longer, unimpressed (he'd seen worse, really) before he felt the anger leave him, gradually and without a fight. He'd had to calm himself a lot when he'd lived with the Dursley's—it seemed to be an aspect of his personality that would stay with him forever.

Sighing in annoyance and defeat, he lifted up his fringe and showed a somewhat surprised Mello his scar. Mello stared at it for a while, at a loss for words, before his mouth twisted into a feral grin of victory and intrigue.

"I knew you'd give in," he said, seemingly unable to stop the words, before he blurted: "That is one badass scar!"

Matt's lips twitched, and Harry scowled.

"Whatever." He muttered, annoyed with himself for giving in and at Mello for being so damn smug about it. The blond boy continued to give him a look that would not seem strange on the face of a satisfied jungle cat.

Harry hoped he passed tomorrow's test, if only so he would have an opportunity to knock that irritating look off of Mello's face.

* * *

**A/N:** I think Harry seemed a bit too mature…I mean, he's only six here. Then again, he's not a normal kid by any means, so I suppose that's okay.

And let it be known that I adore Mello with every fiber of my being. :D

**Important:** The actual Death Note timeline will probably not be incorporated into this story. I will probably make it completely AU, and—although I love Light and Matsuda and, yes, even Misa—I will disregard all things Kira. I wish I could incorporate it, but I don't feel I could do it Justice. Yes, with a capital 'J'. ;)

**Next Chapter**: You'll meet more of the children at Wammy's, and follow Harry throughout the next year of his rather hectic life. Oh, and more of Mello being an asshat, and also 100% more Near. Yeyz!


	3. III: A Testy Interlude

**Wammy's Boy**

**By: Super NEET**

**A Testy Interlude**

**~*~*~*~**

"What's your favorite sport?"

"I've never played any other than football."

"Would you like to play other sports?"

"Yes."

"Who would you say is your best friend?"

"I don't have one."

"Why not?"

"No one wanted to be my best friend, I guess."

"I see. What's your favorite color?"

"I don't really have one."

"But if you had to choose one, which would you choose?"

"Green, probably."

"Mhm. And if you could visit any country, which country would you choose and why?"

"Probably China or Japan. They seem so different."

"You like things that are different?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"Do you know why?"

Harry hesitated for the first time since the stream of questions started. "They're nothing like what I'm use to…and what I'm use to makes me unhappy."

There was a slight pause, and then the maybe-doctor (who had introduced herself as Mrs. Hassell) let a small smile. "Do you feel unhappy often?"

"Not actively unhappy. I guess I'm sad most of the time…I don't really notice it anymore."

"Hm. And what makes you happy?"

"New things. _Different _things."

"Like what?"

"I like to learn," Harry blurted, before lowering his head and muttering in a more normal tone: "I like learning new things. I don't care what it is. Even if it's something terrible, I like to learn about it."

"That's a wise thing to do," the maybe-doctor Mrs. Hassell said, "Would you say you had a quenchless thirst for knowledge?"

Harry thought about it a moment, "Probably not quenchless. But… I'm sure it's close to that, yeah."

"Okay, good." The lady scribbled on her clipboard for a moment, and Harry shifted uncertainly. He knew that doctors and teachers only said 'good' because you successfully answered a question—not because you successfully answered a question _correctly_. "Just a few more questions and you're free to leave."

"Alright." _Thank God,_ Harry thought.

"Say there are two women. One likes to steal from the first one, who likes to sneer and taunt the second one in a never-ending cycle of theft and unpleasantness. Who is more in the wrong, and how would you suggest they fix the situation?"

Harry thought about it for only a few seconds, before saying, lowly and surely, his answer. He didn't think about whether or not he'd get it 'wrong'…something told him that these two questions had no wrong answers.

"They're both in the wrong, but the second one is more in the wrong because she was breaking the law while the first was just unpleasant. I'd probably look into the unpleasant woman's past and check out her surroundings—I'd ask myself if she was privileged or poor, young or old, skinny or fat, pretty or ugly, and figure out why she acts the way she does. Once I found out all those things I could offer her incentives to shut her mouth. I'd just hand the thief over to the police."

Mrs. Hassell looked surprised, "That's all you'd do to the thief?"

Harry smiled, "You never said the thief was unpleasant. For all I know, the thief could be a very poor, innocent girl who wants to feed her family. The unpleasant one is nasty and easy to dislike. And you never said I was a police officer, so I did what a good Samaritan should, I guess."

"Do you value being a good Samaritan?"

"No," Harry denied firmly, "I value what's right; I value justice."

She smiled then, fiercely, and Harry was a little startled by the look. Her brown eyes were lit with something viciously smug and she scribbled frantically on her clipboard for several moments. Harry waited nervously, swinging his legs back and forth. His feet didn't quite reach the floor.

"Okay, little man," Mrs. Hassell—a black woman of around forty-years who stood extraordinarily tall—pushed herself out of her chair and smiled down at him. "That was very interesting. You're quite smart."

He smiled fretfully, "Thank you."

"No need to be worried," she said with a wink, before she suddenly changed her track entirely, "When's your birthday?"

"July 31st."

"That's mighty soon!" She cried, and bent down in half to be on his level, "How's about I come by to see you and give you a little something, hm?"

"You don't have to!" Harry was quick to assert, shaking his head as if the idea were absurd.

Mrs. Hassell laughed, "No, I insist. I want to."

She grabbed her red coat and slipped it up and over her shoulders, shaking out the sleeves and buttoning it up the front. It was warm outside—hot, even—but she didn't seem phased.

"I'll see you on the 31st, little man." She said, grinning, "I'll send in Mrs. Weatherbee in a moment to escort you back to your temp room. You're done with your tests." With that (unbelievably _excellent_) news, Mrs. Hassell left the room.

Relief filled Harry—the tests had been harder earlier in the day, and he was glad they didn't have anything more challenging lined up for him. The first few tests had covered everything from the Spanish-American War to Lord Byron to algebra; there had been many personal questions about his past and his opinions on things like war, business, and equality, until he thought that he would pass out from all of the queries he'd received from strangers. Despite the fact that she was still more or less a stranger, out of all of the doctors and professors he'd met, Mrs. Hassell was undoubtedly his favorite. Every other person he had met that day had been serious and perfunctory from the moment he arrived to the moment he left…it was slightly intimidating.

Harry reckoned that he was probably at least a _little bit_ smart. Maybe nothing amazing, but certainly a lot more intelligent than the Dursleys had always made him out to be to their snobbish dinner guests.

**A/N**: This is just to hold you over until the next two chapters are done (I like to cash in some time). I won't be taking you through all of Harry's tests, mostly because I'm NOT a genius, and taking you through a series of tests made for geniuses (even six year old ones) would be difficult. I'm sorry it's sloppy…I need a beta reader. I need a harsh beta reader that can kick my ass when I mess up some of those complicated sentences I like to write. And one who knows Death Note better than I do.

**Important Note:** KIRA WILL EXIST IN WAMMY'S BOY! I totally knew that before. When I said he wouldn't. Yeah. Totally…*coughs*

I realized that it would be very easy to fit Kira and the entire Japanese cast in. There still won't be magic, and I still won't be following the Kira Case word for word (in fact, I plan to make it drastically different), but the Death Note and all of its hairy rules and consequences _**WILL**_ exist.


	4. IV: Settling In, Part One

****

Wammy's Boy  
By: Super NEET  
Beta: SensiblyTainted

* * *

**IV: Settling In, Part One**

Harry sat still on the bed in his temporary room.

It wasn't the sort of stillness that one naturally possesses, but rather a forced stillness. One he often acquired when he felt nervous or when he had someone's attention. He was all nerves and doubts, and despite his attempts to keep his body under control, his fists began to clench and unclench on his kneecaps. Never had he felt so on edge as he did just then, and his heart nearly leaped out of his throat to settle in his lap when the door was opened by a stoic-looking Mr. Ruvie.

The man took his time, walking forward into the room until he stood towering over the still-seated boy. Harry slowly raised his face to the man as if he were meeting his executioner. Mr. Ruvie smiled then, and Harry reckoned he'd never seen anything so wonderful.

"You did very well," Mr. Ruvie said, "Welcome to Wammy's."

Harry grinned and flopped back onto the bed in relief, not caring that it was probably rude to do so in front of Mr. Ruvie.

_He'd done it!_

* * *

"And this is the kitchen," Matt was saying, strolling lazily beside Harry and pointing out the rooms as he spoke. "We're not allowed in there, but we are allowed in here." He ducked his head into and pointed at a large room next to the kitchen with several round wooden tables and chairs. "This is where we eat meals. What time you eat depends on your classes, so that it's not overcrowded."

They continued on, passing a pair of giggling brown-haired twins in blue dresses who waved coyly at Matt. The redhead didn't even glance their way, but Harry did. He'd never seen a set of twins in person before.

"That's Jesse and Jamie," Matt explained once they were out of earshot. "They're here because they can memorize a chapter of a book in six minutes and recite it word-for-word."

Harry blinked. "Wow."

"We have a few cases like that." Matt fished in his back pocket for something (probably a game of some sort), but his hand came back empty handed. "You don't have to have a very high I.Q. to stay here. Those two sure don't."

Harry thought that a very mean statement, but spoke nothing of it as they continued on.

"These are science classrooms A, B, and C, and across from them are math classrooms A, B, and C. We don't have that many kids here, but the kids who _are_ here take a lot of classes." Matt seemed to become lazier and lazier as time went on. His shoulders were rolled back casually, and his hands were limp at his sides. "We have three history rooms, three English rooms, and five rooms for the foreign languages. They're in the east wing, though, and I don't feel like walking all the way back there."

Matt sighed and absently scratched the back of his head, upsetting the goggles which were now over his eyes. Harry desperately wanted to ask why he wore them—as far as Harry knew, Matt's eyes were fine—but refrained from doing so. He wasn't sure where they stood with each other, and he didn't want Matt to get angry or think he was nosy.

"I suppose I should introduce you to some of the other students," Matt said somewhat reluctantly. Harry was beginning to feel a little self-conscious—he _hated_ being a burden.

"You don't have to," he assured the redhead.

Matt looked at him for a moment before raising a hand to ruffle Harry's hair. Harry instinctively moved away, his shoulder hunching up defensively, as he didn't like being touched like that.

Matt said nothing of his behavior. "I don't have to, no," he murmured, "but I will."

* * *

"That's Sister," he said, speaking of a boy whom Harry had met briefly on his first day at Wammy's. "He's not the nicest fish in the sea. He acts tough, but at the end of the day he's only here because he can sing opera and speak two languages…backwards."

Harry choked on a laugh. "Really?"

Matt nodded. "Yup. Oh, and _that_," he pointed at a girl with brown hair in two neat plaits, thin, round glasses on her nose, and a completely unimpressed expression on her face, "is Dahlia. She's extremely smart, but doesn't have very good people skills."

"No kidding," Harry muttered, watching Dahlia stare down a boy who approached her until he got nervous and left.

"That's Victory—" Harry had met her briefly, too; a blond girl with short hair and blue eyes. "—she's incredibly competitive."

They continued on in this matter for nearly half an hour, Matt introducing Harry to some students and only telling him the names of others.

"That's Shiho." Matt pointed at a small, uniform-clad Asian girl of around Harry's age. "She's quiet, but speaks four languages already. English, Japanese, Chinese, and French."

"How many languages do we have to learn?" Harry asked curiously.

"At least two besides English and your native language," Matt replied promptly, before he stopped and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "That's Buick." His voice slid a little lower than usual as he pointed out a tall, plain looking boy with stringy brown hair. "He's dangerous. I'd suggest you steer clear of him."

Harry nodded nervously, glancing at Buick who, for some reason, was staring solely at Harry in a manner that suggested he greatly disliked the newest student. He didn't appear much older than Harry, but his brown eyes were harsh and cold, and his unrelenting stare made Harry's hackles rise defensively. Matt steered him around via his shoulder and they left the room, Buick and his mean eyes fading from Harry's mind as they did so.

* * *

"That's Ingrid, Ethel, and Esther," Matt said, pointing out a white, black, and Latino girl in quick succession. "They're gossip queens. All three are nine, so we'll be seeing a lot of them. Unfortunately."

Harry thought the girls were quite pretty, but the looks they sent him were anything _but_. He hung his head a little and tried to make himself smaller. He was used to negative attention, but he'd hoped—_prayed_—for things to be different at Wammy's.

Matt glanced at him. "Don't worry about them. No one takes what they say seriously." He stopped for a moment, considering, "Well, _almost_ no one. But it's not like anyone would—"

"MATT!"

It was—unsurprisingly—Mello, who was clad in all black (looking slightly ridiculous in Harry's opinion) and walking swiftly towards them. Harry noticed how several of the children in the room had suddenly become attentive, their eyes glued to the fast-approaching boy in a strange sort of awed apprehension.

"You'll never guess what Mrs. Jurgen just told me!" Mrs. Jurgen, Harry remembered, was the head nurse.

"You're right," Matt said in a bored fashion. "I won't guess."

Mello ignored him and exclaimed, as if it were the best news in the world, "I have _lice_!"

A quiet settled over the room, and Harry—trying desperately not to laugh—clapped two hands over his mouth. Matt looked completely unsurprised and unaffected, as if he'd known that Mello was lice-infested all along. Mello simply stood proudly, a fierce grin of triumph on his face.

Slowly the room emptied, the children not wanting whatever the blond had (Harry didn't limit Mello's afflictions to lice). After a moment the only ones left in the room were Matt, Mello, and Harry, who finally allowed himself to laugh out loud. Mello's face shifted into an expression of scorn and he looked down his nose at the smallest boy.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" he demanded imperiously.

Harry shrugged shoulders that were still quaking slightly with mirth.

Matt sighed. "Now, what was _so_ important that you had to make everyone think you had lice?"

Harry wasn't really surprised that Mello didn't _actually_ have lice. Harry reckoned that if the blond _had_, he'd have told no one and would have sat scratching at his hair until the problem took care of itself. Or until Mrs. Jurgen did something about it—that woman was the size of a quarterback and, in Harry's opinion, quite scary.

"Nothing," Mello said, flopping lazily into one of the armchairs, stretching himself out like a contented cat. "I just didn't want all of those losers hanging around."

Harry pretended he didn't see the glance he'd received when Mello uttered the word 'losers'. Matt shrugged as if to say 'hey, what're you gonna do' and settled himself onto one end of a couch.

Harry stood awkwardly for a moment, thinking that he had most likely overstayed his welcome. Matt had probably been _forced_ to show him around, anyway, and it wasn't like they were _friends_. A peculiar feeling of relief and disappointment welled up inside of him, and his toes curled as he bit the inside of his cheek in a show of nerves. He felt so small sometimes and hated the moments when he became acutely aware of his naivety…

"You can sit down," Matt told him suddenly, making Harry twitch in surprise. He'd been in his own little world for a moment. "It's alright."

"No it _isn't_!" Mello cried, as if Matt had been referring to the Holocaust.

Matt ignored Mello and gestured to the opposite end of the couch he was settled on. Harry hesitated only a moment before taking the offered seat, hoping that Matt wasn't letting him stay out of duty, or worse, _pity_.

A tense moment passed between them in which Mello glared at Harry sullenly before the blond broke the silence with a sigh. "Why the hell are we keeping him around, again?"

Harry glared and opened his mouth to speak before a quiet cough stole his attention. He and Mello (Matt had procured a video game and was seemingly not paying attention) looked around the room, their eyes finally landing on the girl Matt had called Shiho. She looked somewhat nervous.

"Sorry," she said with a very slight accent. "I didn't know this was a three-man party."

"That's right," Mello said rudely. At the same time, Harry politely replied, "It isn't."

They glared at each other.

"Shut your face, newbie," Mello snapped.

"Really, there's no reason to fight—" Shiho began anxiously, but they both ignored her.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Harry fired back, his hands clenching into fists.

Matt sighed slightly, his eyes glancing up to regard them with a flat expression before they landed back on the screen of his game console. Shiho stood off to the side, torn between leaving and breaking up the fighting boys.

"Still don't got a name, do you?" Mello asked, both conversationally and tauntingly, his eyes hard and his lips quirked.

"Wha—no," Harry replied immediately, and then cursed himself for not sounding more irritated. He _was_ irritated.

"How about _Scarface_?" Mello suggested, and Harry reckoned he was _serious_.

"No way!"

"_Scarhead_?"

"No!"

"_Deformity_!"

Harry simply glared.

Mello folded his arms and glared back. "Fine, pick your _own_ stupid name. I bet it's gonna suck. Won't it, Matt?"

Matt said nothing; he didn't even glance up at his friend, his thumbs working furiously, his goggle-clad eyes focused on defeating some evil boss. Mello glared in displeasure and kicked him in the shin. The redhead simply raised an eyebrow at him before returning to his game, nonplussed.

"How about Bìmíng?" Shiho suggested suddenly, "It means 'clarity of jade' in Chinese. Your eyes are the color of jade."

Harry just stared, uncomprehending.

Mello sneered. "That's a stupid name," he said nastily.

"I like it," Harry said quickly, somehow managing to glare at Mello and smile at Shiho at the same time. "Got any more?"

Shiho smiled excitedly and nodded, "Varden, Ruri, Greene, Bolt, Merryweather, Lance, Wren—"

"That's a lot of names," Harry muttered, bemused and wide-eyed.

"—Christof, Taylor, Jimmy, Harry—" the unknowingly named boy nearly toppled over, "—Derek, Moses, Benjamin, Gregory—"

"Alright, alright, _we get it_!" Mello exploded, causing both Harry and Shiho to start. The girl stopped talking and hung her head in an almost comically heartbroken manner.

Harry thought she was about to cry and panicked.

"No, no, it's okay," he said hurriedly, his tone consoling; "They weren't bad names."

Mello snorted.

"Really?" Shiho sniffed, toeing the ground and looking up at Harry through her straight-cut bangs.

"Really," Harry repeated happily, mostly just glad that she wasn't going to cry.

Shiho's face twisted into a grin, and she giggled once. "Thanks."

Mello looked disgusted. "Ugh, ew. Get a room."

Harry immediately turned pink in the face, but Shiho looked curious and confused. Harry would have laughed if he hadn't been involved.

"Why?"

The blond opened his mouth to answer her, but Harry kicked him in the shins before he could out of sheer panic. Mello squawked and, for a moment, he did nothing but stare at the glaring, blushing Harry in disbelief before he launched himself at the smaller boy with a roar of outrage. Shiho cried out in shock, leaping backwards, and Matt, eyebrow raised, began to watch the fight with mild interest.

Names sure did cause a lot of problems—perhaps he'd be better off without one.

* * *

**A/N**: W00t! Part two is coming up next. In it Harry will receive his new name, meet Near, get to know the other students better, and other uber fun stuff.

**Also:** I HAVE A BETA! The lovely **SensiblyTainted**, who is a bit of a legend in the HP fanfiction world, helped make this chapter as easy-to-read as it is. She's awesome…go check out her stories. Now.

Oh, and as for Shiho—she won't be Sue-ish, and she won't be the romantic interest of any canon characters at any point in the future. I hate adding female OCs, because I hate Sues, but it would be very unrealistic if there were no females at Wammy's for Harry to interact with. If Wammy's had no females, he'd see Hermione for the first time and be like, "WTF IS THIS?" (Except not really, but you get my meaning.)

_**P.S. D, I hateth you! My paragraphs are NOT too long!**_


	5. V: Settling In, Part Two

**Wammy's Boy  
By: Super NEET  
Beta'd By: SensiblyTainted**

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* * *

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**V: Settling In, Part Two**

Harry woke early on his second day as a Wammy's resident, blinking slowly into consciousness with a half-smile. He was going to spend the day with Matt, who had agreed to help him pick out his classes the night before. The redhead had also muttered something about introducing him to 'Near', who Harry guessed was a resident he'd yet to meet.

He dressed slowly, feeling sluggish from his full night's sleep in a comfortable bed. Half of him wanted to simply go back to sleep, but he knew that Matt was probably already waiting for him in the commons downstairs with Mello. Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to spending time with the loud-mouthed blond, but he reckoned he'd be doing so on a day-to-day basis for a long, long time. It was best he got use to it as quickly as he could.

Once he was somewhat presentable he left his room, panicking for a moment when his mind refused to recognize his surroundings. It all rushed back to him after a few seconds and he sighed happily as he easily found his way to the commons where Matt and Mello were indeed waiting for him. Well, where Matt was waiting and Mello was glaring at everyone in the room with his arms crossed.

"Hey," Matt said easily, glancing up from the game in his hands. Mello just glared at Harry with his lip curled.

"Hi," Harry said shyly, smiling and attempting to ignore Mello completely.

Matt stood up and pocketed his game, gesturing for Harry to follow him as he left the room. Mello got up first and fell in step behind Matt mutely, but Harry could tell that he was dying to say something nasty. He wondered if Matt had told Mello to keep his trap shut, at least for a little while.

"I'm going to introduce you to Near," Matt said, and Harry saw Mello's hands clench into tight fists and his face twist into something malicious.

"Why just him?" Harry asked curiously.

Matt shrugged, frustrating Harry quite a bit.

They walked to the opposite side of the building, deep in the East Wing, and eventually came to rest in front of a door that was just like all of the others on that hallway. Harry glanced at Matt, who looked as uninterested as ever as he knocked on the door twice. Mello's face was a soundless snarl by then, and Harry idly wondered if he had something against this 'Near' person.

"Come in, Matt, Mello," a young and boyish voice called from inside, and Matt pushed the door open and entered with Mello and Harry trailing behind him.

"Hey, Near," Matt said.

Near was a strange creature of around Harry's age with white hair and dark eyes. He sat oddly in a chair with one leg bent, his eyes on level with the knee, and one leg situated normally with his bare foot resting on the floor. He wore white pajamas that were only a few shades lighter than his pale skin, giving him an eerie appearance. A plastic army man was being marched up and over his knee, and despite the fact that he had guests his eyes never left it. Harry marveled inconspicuously at the boy for a moment, and then more openly at the state of the boy's room. There were all manners of toys scattered about, more than even _Dudley_ had owned…

"What do you want?" Near asked bluntly, still not removing his eyes from the toy in his hand.

Matt didn't seem phased. "I wanted you to meet our newest student."

Near finally glanced up, his head tilted slightly. Harry wondered if he was albino, although he'd always thought that albinos had red eyes. Near's eyes were bizarrely dark and dull.

"Why?" Near asked, his tone flat but not unkind.

Mello snorted, but Matt just shrugged for the second time. Near stared at the redhead for a moment before nodding as if his question had actually been answered.

"I see," he said monotonously.

Mello was attempting to glare a hole through Near's head, though Matt seemed perfectly at ease with the situation. Harry, on the other hand, began to shift uncomfortably at the silence and the almost unwelcoming vibe that Near was now giving off. The white-haired boy had turned his eyes back to his toy soldier and was no longer paying them any mind.

"Good bye," Near finally said, in a flat, not-quite-polite tone.

"'Bye," Matt said, before strolling from the room, Mello and Harry once again following him like obedient puppies.

The second they had shut the door behind them, Mello exploded.

"That runty little _bastard_!"

Matt sighed and busied himself with a video game without a word. Harry glanced at Mello warily, but he couldn't help but wonder why the blond seemed to hate Near so much. Sure Near didn't seem like best-friend-material, but he hadn't seemed like nemesis-material either. In fact, Harry was willing to bet that Near never bothered _anyone_. Not that Mello needed a reason to have violent tendencies towards another person.

"—thinks he's _better_ than everyone else, the little _shit_! I'm gonna show _him_ who's the best one day, and man is it going to _hurt_!"

Harry rolled his eyes and decided he didn't want to know after all.

* * *

"Have you chosen your classes yet, Harry?" Shiho asked politely.

Matt had left Harry to run off with Mello some time ago, leaving Harry in the commons with Shiho, Sister, and the girl named Dahlia. Sister was unsuccessfully trying to get Dahlia's attention, providing a rather amusing spectacle.

"No," he told Shiho. "Matt said he'd help me do that later."

Shiho nodded. "It's strange that he spends so much time with you," she said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Really? Why?"

"He's never really talked to anyone besides Mello. And sometimes Near."

Harry found this hard to believe, as people always waved and greeted Matt when the boy walked by. Then again Matt never did more than tip his head in acknowledgement, unless it was himself or Mello (and, he supposed, Near).

"What's up with Near, anyways?" Harry asked at the risk of sounding rude.

"Well…he's really, _really_ smart for one," Shiho said slowly and carefully, as if Near was listening to her every word. "He's special. He, Mello, and Matt are all special. I don't know why."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean, _special_?"

Shiho shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "I dunno. They don't have to wear the uniforms or have normal schedules. They disappear from time to time and take special tests. No one really knows why."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly.

He'd had no idea that Matt and Mello weren't average Wammy's residents. Near he could imagine taking secret, special tests and never wearing anything other than his white pajamas. The redhead and the blond, on the other hand, had seemed just like everyone else at Wammy's…quirky and smart, but not special above all the others. Harry hoped Matt didn't drop him like a hot tamale when the redhead realized how average and _not_ special he was.

"Look, I just want to know what you think of my new haircut," Sister said loudly, catching Harry and Shiho's attention. "Is it sexy? Yay? Nay? C'mon, answer me!"

Dahlia slammed the book in her hands shut and glared at Sister before standing with an indignant huff. Her plaited twin-tails bounced gently on her shoulders as she left with her nose turned daintily upwards.

Sister whistled when she was gone. "What a woman!"

Shiho shook her head. "You should leave her alone," she told Sister wisely. "I saw her beat up Hive once. It wasn't pretty."

Sister glared loftily at her. "Mind your own business, twerp. This is an adult situation."

Shiho lowered her head and clenched the edge of her skirt in her hands.

Harry glared at Sister. "Leave her alone."

"_Woo hoo hoo_," Sister sang, looking around as if he had an audience. "What's this? The little brat's got some spirit in him!"

Harry found himself disliking Sister more than he disliked Mello. It was strange, but Sister seemed wholly different from Mello despite the fact that they treated Harry in a similar manner. Maybe it was because Sister was less intelligent and was a few years older, but Harry doubted it.

"I _have_ a name," Harry gritted out.

"Oh yeah?" Sister sneered, crossing his arms. "What is it then, newbie?"

Harry opened his mouth, floundered for a moment, and then closed it with an audible snap. His cheeks tinted pink as Sister snickered at him. He _didn't_ have a name to give Sister, and he felt like an idiot for forgetting.

"Aww, the _poor_ little kid don't have a _name_," Sister cooed maliciously. "Whatever shall we—"

Something seemed to shift in Harry's chest and burst up his throat and out of his mouth.

"Jinx," he said almost loudly, "My name is _Jinx_."

Harry had been stewing over names since the day before, wondering over which one he'd ultimately be stuck with. At one point he had decided that _he_ would be the one to choose the name—not Mello, not Shiho, and _definitely_ not Sister. He was free of the Dursley's harsh control and able to make his own decisions; he'd choose his _own_ damn name and—even though the name was rather morbid—he'd _like_ it. Or at least _pretend_ to like it.

Sister's nose crinkled. "Jinx? Really?"

Shiho nodded a bit too enthusiastically, leaving Harry to respond in words.

"Yes."

Despite the tenseness of the moment Harry felt like smirking. He could tell that Sister desperately wanted to pick on the new name, but couldn't because _his_ name was _Sister_. Harry idly wondered why and how the older boy had gotten such an outlandish name.

Sister glared at the two before him, his jaw and fingers twitching. Harry could tell how frustrated the older boy was, but felt nothing other than satisfaction. Served the git _right_.

"Cool." He finally said reluctantly. His shoulders rolled back and his nose was once again thrust upwards in a snooty fashion.

Harry was rather confused but said nothing as the older boy strolled haughtily from the room, deeming the conversation over and most likely on his way to find Dahlia. Shiho was silent for all of ten seconds before she squealed and latched onto Harry's arm.

"You picked a good one!" She gushed. "Congratulations."

Harry attempted to extricate himself from Shiho's grasp. "Er, thanks."

She nodded before smiling at him shyly. "So, Jinx," she snickered as she said the name, "Why _Jinx_?"

Harry glanced away from her and shrugged. _That_ was something he didn't want to ever explain to anyone. They'd probably be scared of him when they learned that every person he'd ever been close to in his life was dead.

Her eyes had changed into something softer, but Harry couldn't figure out why.

"I get it," she said gently, removing herself from him, "Everyone's got baggage, Harry. Even jerks like Sister haven't had it easy."

He looked at her in a mixture of gratefulness and puzzlement. She was _comforting_ him, he realized, and although he felt uncomfortable with the whole situation, he smiled.

* * *

Matt and Harry lay sprawled on their stomachs in the middle of Harry's room, flipping through a magazine-like pamphlet that gave detailed overviews of all the available courses.

"Jinx, huh?" Matt murmured with his lips quirked upwards.

Harry turned red. "It just kinda…_came out_," he muttered self-consciously.

"I like it."

Harry smiled, pleased. They said nothing more about his new name, something which he was grateful for. He was still slightly embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

"This one is fun," Matt said, pointing out a class entitled 'Music Theory'. "I took it my first year here."

Harry frowned. "I don't think a music class is for me."

Matt shrugged and continued to flip through the pamphlet in front of him. "Suit yourself."

There were so many classes. Harry had never been presented with so many academic options in his life, and it was at once exciting and a bit overwhelming to be able to choose how he'd spend his time. Making up his own schedule was not something that Harry had ever expected himself to do, at least not until he was much older.

Harry pointed out a class called 'Combat Analysis'. "What's that?"

Matt glanced over. "That's a hard class. You learn and analyze fighting styles or something. Sister took it last year, but he hated it."

_Sister is a good-for-nothing prat,_ Harry thought viciously before he scanned the section of the pamphlet dedicated to the class.

Underneath the name and description it said: _Japanese jujutsu, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, aikido, capoeira, kendo, Krav Maga, etc. _Harry had never heard of any of those, but judging by the description, they were fighting styles. His eyes lingered on that class for a long moment before he continued his perusal.

"What languages are you gonna take?" Matt asked. He was propped up on his elbows, his eyes still scanning the pamphlet despite the fact that he'd asked Harry a question.

"I dunno," Harry answered half-reluctantly. "Which ones are you taking?"

"French, Chinese, and Japanese," he said. "Maybe Spanish later. Spanish, Chinese, and French are the most popular."

Harry deliberated for a moment. He wanted to learn _every_ language, but figured he'd start off with three or four. His heart swelled when he thought about all of the possibilities.

"I guess I'll take Chinese, Japanese, and Russian," he said after a time. "I'll take Spanish when I'm done with one of those."

"You're never really 'done'," Matt warned. "Unless you drop it completely, you never really finish the language. This isn't a normal school."

"I know," Harry mumbled with a sigh, before perking up. "Okay, so I'll take Japanese and Chinese this year, and start Russian and Spanish next year."

Matt glanced over at him. "That'll be tough."

"I know."

A moment passed, before Matt sighed and said, "Okay, how about Chorus?"

"No way."

"You need at least one music or art class," Matt told him. "What about violin lessons?"

"No."

"Piano?"

"Nope."

Matt sighed again. "Why do you dislike music so much?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't dislike music. I just don't wanna make it."

"You could just take Music Theory, then. You don't make any music at all. You just study music in general."

Harry thought it over. Music had never really caught his interest, but neither had painting or any other form of art. He wanted to learn _interesting_ stuff, not blow and bang away at kazoos and steel drums.

"Fine," Harry grumbled. "But I won't like it."

"You will," Matt assured him. "Everyone does."

Harry almost reminded Matt that he wasn't 'everyone' but refrained. He still had a few more classes to pick out and he hadn't even finished looking through the pamphlet yet. Matt appeared to have gotten bored and was twiddling his thumbs away at a video game, leaving Harry to do the rest of the course-searching by himself. Harry didn't mind, and an hour later he had all of his classes ready and had filled out the necessary form, which Matt pocketed and promised to deliver to the right people.

Harry fell asleep that night with a half-smile, much like the one he had woken up with that morning.

* * *

**A/N:** That was ridiculously difficult. Harry's name was originally Jade, but I decided (with a great deal of help from my beta) that Jinx would be more personal. I'm sorry if this isn't particularly well-written...it was an absolute bitch to write. I hope none of you are sick of Shiho, as she's probably going to be the most prominent OC.

The next chapter will be Harry's first week of school and his birthday, so it will be quite long. After that I will be skipping a year or so into the future so that the story can really get going. Also, I've decided that the Death Note storyline will be mostly nonexistant. I won't be incorporating most of the paranormal aspects, simply because I don't know Death Note that well. I know that if I attempt to learn all of the rules and whatnot I'll eff it up most spectacularly. As I said...not a Death Note expert. ;_;

I don't know when the next chapter will be out. Just wait and see. ;D


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